


―a world without our first kiss

by shuckit



Category: Anastasia - Flaherty/Ahrens/McNally
Genre: Alternate Universe - Anastasia Dies, F/M, POV Dimitri | Dmitry (Anastasia)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-21
Updated: 2018-07-21
Packaged: 2019-06-13 22:06:57
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,025
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15374364
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shuckit/pseuds/shuckit
Summary: A twist of the Anastasia musical wherein Gleb shoots Anastasia and Dmitry has to deal with his emotions after her death.





	―a world without our first kiss

**Author's Note:**

> this is messy as HECK . so i apologize for that
> 
> as well -- i'm not too good at making my writing provoke sadness so if it'll help, i encourage listening to this while reading: https://open.spotify.com/track/2pFTaP5dQ5PPIlz8ydZZmM

Countless people had heard the shot. Maids, ballet dancers, palace staff, children, simple passerbys. But not Dmitry. He had been seated on the curb outside of a French bistro dwelling on his empty stomach. Even years later, while tossing and turning in his tangled sheets, he was haunted by the fact that while the grand duchess Anastasia Nikolaevna of Russia was being cornered and murdered, he was thinking about his next meal.

The very day of Anastasia’s murder, the Dowager Empress had immediately sent for Dmitry. News travelled fast but not fast enough for him to know of her death. He’d gone to meet the Empress reluctantly but curiously. In his simple mind, he’d thought she was going to offer her thanks or pass on a final farewell from Anastasia. But, in fact, Anastasia’s last words directed at him had been laced with anger and hatred.

He could clearly remember standing in front of the Empress, those Romanov blue eyes so dazzlingly similar to Anastasia’s. Her lined face had told it all ― fatigue, exhaustion and deep, endless sadness. When, her voice breaking, she’d told Dmitry of Anastasia’s fate; the gunshot wound in her chest, the proud but cold expression lingering on her everstill features, he’d nearly crumbled to the floor there and then. But he held himself tall, staring over the Empress’ shoulder and conjured one bittersweet memory into his mind. 

_“We made it!”_

_“Even when I was mad at you, I never doubted we would. Thank you, Dmitry.” With Paris glittering across the hills, their destination was finally within tangible reach. Their journey, as stricken and riddled with fear as it had been, was over. The haughty expression on Anastasia’s features had melted into one of genuine and utter relief. And gratefulness._

_Uncomfortable with the sudden affection, Dmity had choked out, “thank Vlad.”_

_They’d stared at each other for a moment, his brown eyes locked on her expressive blues. It was when he’d heard his heart thumping in his chest and finally, for the first time, recognized it for what it was. Love._

_“I can see the Eiffel tower! It’s true, it’s really there!” Vlad had called out. Dmitry and Anastasia shared one final glance, a glance that spoke a thousand words, before vanishing after Vlad._

__And when the Dowager Empress offered him a room in the palace, he didn’t even need to think before politely but stubbornly refusing. In no universe would he accept the life that been so cruelly stolen from Anastasia. To think that after a lifetime of empty memories and backbreaking work, Anastasia’s dreams had been ripped from her the instant she’d gotten them._ _

__She’d pressed a handful of cash into his numb palm and once he registered the sufficient amount she was attempting to offer him, he shook his head profusely. “I don’t need it.”_ _

__“For Anastasia.”_ _

__The words hung in the air as he stared into her old, heartbroken features before his fingers curled around the cash, accepting the money. “For Anya,” he’d whispered quietly to himself, his voice barely loud enough for himself to hear._ _

__He’d stumbled out into the warm night, so different from Russia’s bitter and frosty evenings. A million lights twinkled under the glow of a thousand stars but his focus wasn’t on the breathtaking scenery. He tried to catch his breath, his chest heaving, as the world was stolen from his grasp like a pickpocket’s stealthy snatch. He’d pressed his back against the palace walls, relieved to feel the rough redbrick structure as something physical to hold onto. How could she be gone? Those dignified features, passionate voice, pale blue eyes. . ._ _

__Days passed. Days that felt like eons. Dmitry tried to busy himself in things that distracted him from the painful echoes of thought but nothing could save him from the memories of her that constantly haunted his mind. Vlad had visited him and tried to offer his condolences but the words were as empty as Dmitry’s pocket had once been. Vlad had a new life now and it felt wrong for Dmitry to intrude and so he began and ended his days in an abandoned Paris stable, alone._ _

__Vlad had his countess and Dmitry had the cash in his pocket and an empty heart. It was unfathomable how quickly he had gone from an empty pocket and a heart full of love to a bulging pocket and a hollow heart._ _

__With time came changes. The sadness remained the soundtrack to his heart’s consistent beats but guilt and anger came like the ebbing of the tide. He was angry a lot of the time. At Russia. At the government. At God. At himself._ _

__The man who had murdered her had vanished into thin air, presumably returning to Russia. And despite the fact Dmitry had had absolutely nothing to do with the bullethole in Anastasia's heart, he oftentimes found himself to blame. He was the one who had so eagerly founded their little con. It had developed into so much more than a coy and useless trick for money. He'd gotten his heart involved. But all the same, if he hadn't gotten Anastasia to Paris she wouldn't be dead. . . But she wouldn't have realized who she was; the Grand Duchess Anastasia. Was that brief glimpse of her life worth it?_ _

__The complicated mess of thoughts swirling in Dmitry's head were incessant. When he wasn't blaming himself for her death, he was picturing what life could have looked like with her in it. Their first kiss. Escaping a life of royalty for a simpler lifestyle. Together. His firm fingers entwined with hers. Nothing but the future ahead of them. Nothing to lose._ _

__But these dreams were just dreams._ _

__Anastasia was dead._ _

__He hadn't been willing to admit it but over the course of time Dmitry had fallen in love with Anastasia. He was proud and bold and uncomfortable with explaining the whispers in his heart but without a doubt, he'd loved her. Her anger, her fierce passion, her clear laugh, dainty nose, defined features, her warmth and her contagious energy. All of that was gone now._ _

__And with it, an unreplacable piece of his heart._ _


End file.
